


What Hits Harder

by degression (Ashton_riley)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Fluff, Gentleness, Hurt Stiles, Lacrosse, M/M, Nice Jackson, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Protective Jackson, Scott is a Bad Friend, Stiles Feels, Werewolf Jackson, gentle jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 13:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7173860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashton_riley/pseuds/degression
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles looked deep into Jackson's eyes and knew without a shadow of a doubt that Jackson would be there for him, would help take away his pain. At least for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Hits Harder

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my very first fic so please let me know what you think. Any and all comments/corrections will be appreciated.  
> No warnings apply other than very slight displays self doubt and mentions of crude behavior.
> 
> I was listening to The Witching Hour playlist on YouTube by Samuel Jackson while writing this. It's sort of long but I definitely would recommend it!

Stiles knew it wasn't an accident. He knew that each hit was meant to cause damage; that each remark was meant to bite at his heals. Stiles knew he had to have screwed up somehow; that he must have royally fucked things up. It wouldn't have been the first time.  
Scott was the last in the locker room, and shot a final glare towards Stiles before yanking up his gear and stomping off. Stiles peered around the room one last time to make sure he was alone before attempting to pull off his practice jersey. The stained netting was sliding over the arch of his back when a desperate whimper escaped and his ribs began pounding a brutal tattoo into his lungs. They may not have been broken but they were definitely bruised. It wasn't that pain was a new experience to Stiles, but combined with pack stress, self-doubt, and Scott's mental tormenting, he felt completely done.  
Stiles knew he had to keep his breathing regulated despite the pain of each intake, he knew he needed to keep calm and avoid his stressors, he knew that if he could just get home everything would be fine; but despite knowing he couldn't help breathing far too fast and sliding down the benches as he flew head first into a pain attack. Each ragged breath drawn in desperation was pulling him closer and closer to a blackout, and as the edges of his vision began to blur, he thought of the darkness as a sweet relief. It would be the freedom from his pain, so he dove in.

***

Jackson was waiting out in the parking lot. He promised himself that as soon as Stilinski walked out he would leave, but that had been nearly twenty minutes ago and there was still no sign of him. It wasn't that Jackson particularly cared what those idiots did for fun, but Scott's taunting had looked like a hell of a lot more than roughhousing between friends. The raw aggression pouring of Scott was equivalent to that of a madman on a mission.  
Jackson couldn't sense what was happening inside the locker room, yet he couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong. With the knowledge that Scott had already left ten minutes prior, Jackson quickly started towards the lockers. The sight that greeted him was revolting yet somehow equally unsurprising. There Stiles sat, head tilted against his gear, shirt rucked up, bloody ribs exposed, and knocked clean out.  
Jackson deftly moved forward towards Stiles and attempted to wake him. The boy stayed in his undoubtedly pain induced sleep, even as Jackson swept the delicate body into his arms. He brought Stiles out to his car and settled him gently in the passenger's seat before pulling out of the parking lot. He knew he had to take care of the little twerp. Someone had to. 

***

When Stiles woke, he wasn't met with the face of a disgruntled janitor, or an annoyed coach, but rather an empty bedroom. Just as he was attempting to crawl out of the unfamiliar bed, the door opened and _Jackson Whittemore_ of all people came in. Jackson ignored the questioning look on Stiles face and settled for opening up the first aid kit he had just brought in. Stiles protested profusely as Jackson lifted his lacrosse gear away, but all of his complaints went on deaf ears. Jackson wasn't in the mood to explaining himself, and he knew what needed to be done. Stiles didn't know what to think, the man that had tormented him for as long as he could remember was taking care of him. Stiles gasped when the first dab of alcohol began cleaning at his wounds and tender fingers began running along the lines of his rib cage. Jackson could feel Stiles' apprehension in the air, but he had not the slightest idea how to ease it. There was no quick way to reassure someone of your good intentions when they had only ever seen your bad. "I know you're probably confused as to why I'm doing this, but you deserve to be taken care of, and I know that you are alone right now; so please let me be there for you". Jackson said quietly after he had cleaned out the most gruesome of the injuries. Stiles mind was jumping from thoughts... he wondered about Scott and what his problem was, he wondered about the pack and what they would have to face next, he wondered if he should be at a hospital, he wondered how Jackson had even found him, he wondered how the person he thought hated him the most was the only one there to take care of him, but he said nothing. For once the boy who always said too much was quiet. He sat on Jackson's bed and tried to stay still as his wounds were being wrapped. When he finished nursing at Stiles' wounds, Jackson quickly gathered all the medical supplies and left the room, leaving Stiles alone with his musings. He returned silently and passed Stiles a glass of water, which he gratefully downed. Stiles nearly dropped his cup when Jackson suddenly climbed into his bed next to Stiles and pulled the duvet over the both of them. He tucked his body close and lightly tugged the injured boy into his chest. When both boys where nearly asleep, Jackson could have sworn he felt Stiles lips press a gentle peck and whisper a Thank You against his jaw, but he told himself it was just wishful thinking.

***

When Stiles woke yet again, in the bed of Jackson Whittemore; he wasn't alone but rather surrounded by the strong arms that had encased him throughout the night. Hot breath was cascading across his shoulder and neck in a slow, sleepy rhythm. His body was sore and his mind was still tired, so with only the intention of falling back to sleep, Stiles snuggled himself closer to Jackson and his comforting warmth. When Stiles had moved, it had woken Jackson from his light sleep and pulled him into awareness. Jackson was sure that if Stiles woke up and found them twined together he would fall into nothing short of a panic attack. He didn't want Stiles to be alarmed by his actions any more than necessary. Jackson was slowly separating himself from Stiles form, under the impression that the smaller boy was still in a deep sleep. He was to far lost in his own mind to notice the boys hammering heart beat, to realize that he was actually awake. Stiles stayed still and quite as Jackson pulled away, he knew Jackson was probably cringing from having been so close to him, to have been next to each other so intimately.  
Stiles was resilient and despite how much he wanted Jackson's comfort, he let the man roll away. Jackson let his room shortly after, and in his absence Stiles prepared himself to get away. He didn't know what Jackson intended with him, but he knew he wouldn't respond well to teasing in his state. He was frantically gathering his lacrosse gear when he door opened up silently behind him. Jackson was standing in the door way with a smirk on his face but concern in his eyes. "What do you think you're doing?".  
Stiles whipped around so quickly that he dropped all the belongings he gathered, and in a failed attempt to remain his hold on them pulled at the tender muscles straining his ribs. Jackson darted forward and steadied Stiles before guiding him back into the bed. "Why are you doing all of this for me? What do you want?" Stiles questioned once he was settled. It was the first time he had spoken since the start of practice, and his voice was still gruff with sleep. Jackson looked down into his eyes, normal bright with life and mischief, now cold with anguish and empathy. "You need someone to be here for you right now, and I know what its like to need support but never have it available". "I don't want anything from you Stiles, I just wanna help". He saw the incredulous look on Stiles face and continued talking. "I know that we always haven't had the best of relationships together, but you're pack Stiles, and just because Scott is holding a grudge against you doesn't mean the rest of us have to". Stiles looked deep into Jackson's eyes and knew without a shadow of a doubt that Jackson would be there for him, would help take away his pain. At least for now. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are always welcomed.


End file.
